Ghosts
by KunoichiRena
Summary: Rochelle is the only one left alive, but being the only one left alive doesn't mean that she's alone.
1. Ghosts

Ghosts

With all her might, she tried not to scream nor sob. As an effect, though, her entire body trembled violently. Tears streamed down her dark cheeks as she cupped her hands over her chest, trying to lesson the ache that clawed at her from inside out.

Rigor mortis had seized them by the time she came to; their guns still firmly clenched inside their hands and the looks of terror and agony evident on their cold faces. Her muffled cries served only to stifle the pain that she tried locking away.

The familiar sounds of an oncoming horde resonated within the air and she was set. She was going to have to take down this horde or die trying. There was no way in hell that she was going to go down without a fight, even against all odds. She grasped onto her scar nearby and pushed herself up onto her feet, a horrible pain wracking through her body as she keeled over for a precious moment, blood sliding down the inside of her arm, past her fingertips, and finally mixing in with the pool of Nick's blood beneath her. She took another look at their bodies and noticed that the con man was the only one really close to where she had lain. His suit, his dirtied up, beaten down, well-ventilated white suit had turned into a crimson color. She choked on air once and brought up the final mental image of the con man fighting for his life and hers and the possibility that he had died protecting her. It was plausible. He was not even a foot away from her. No more than a hair's breadth away.

She gripped onto her gun and backed up into a boarded up wall, her finger clenched tightly around the trigger. She needed to see the others. She needed them to be there for her when she would do this.

"I can't do this alone…"

She found herself saying, almost hating herself for actually being able to push these words past her lips. A moment later and the horde had descended upon her. She let out a feral yell and began shooting away at the zombies in front of her, her wound seemingly disappearing with this newfound adrenaline. Vaguely, very vaguely, she remembered someone stabbing her thigh with a shot before she managed to pass out. Who was it?

Coach. Definitely Coach. He had never let the woman go without aid. He was her vanguard—her personal tank. That man would never let anything get past him, and if they did, he'd chase it down until it was destroyed. There was no sense in letting a zombie live, they were dead to start off with and they would always round back a second time to go after a survivor. There were no two ways about it. Zombies were brainless and sought after fresh meat only.

"_Little sister, what do you think you're doing!?"_

The tears cleared from her eyes for a brief moment for her to see an oncoming charger. She pulled out her axe and swiped away at it before it even managed to touch her. As the charger lay on the ground and she continued to hack away at the living corpses, she noted a husky man dressed in purple, almost as if he were an apparition, signaling her off with his body already half turned away from her. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"Coach?"

"_Sho sho."_

He replied, Rochelle's chest swelling up with delight. He wasn't…

No, this wasn't right.

Her eyes flickered back to the ground to see Coach's body laying there. Still as stone and chest beaten in. "COACH!" Her voice was high and shrill. She wanted to stop him, to try and reel his apparition back into his body, but she wasn't even sure that what she was seeing was real. He had cleared her out of her muggy thoughts and warned her of the charger. His body turned completely now to face her and he held up his gun, placing it on his hip and grinning.

"_You get them, little sister. You have my gun."_

Her chest heaved a bit and she looked down into his frozen hands to see his tactical shotgun still lying where he fell. She re-took her gun in her hands and clicked it a few times, realizing that it was out of ammo. With a heavy heart, she walked over to him and picked up the gun, feeling the clutch in her hands and letting out a sob that teetered her entire body forwards. There were still shells inside. She was still safe and another horde approached still. "Coach…" She looked up to see the apparition of the man beginning to fade fast as he approached the swamp water and disappear. Her teeth clenched together and she rubbed her palm into her eyes.

"I'm going crazy…I'm definitely going crazy…"

As the horde approached, she tried to steadily hold her gun and shoot, the blast knocking her arm backwards and gun arching upwards a bit with every fire. Her temporary fright cause her to loose balance and stumble backwards a bit, her mind clearing up and finally gripping it properly. Ellis had taught her once before how to. Her jaw clenched up at the thought of the young man positioned face-up on the ground and his heart not beating in his chest. The mechanic was always there for her when she needed cheering up. He was a dork and the kid thought that he was invincible. And she was envious of that. She didn't know how to be as fearlessly stupid as he was. He was the runner up force. When all things went to hell, he had a shotgun that would blast through any zombie and more often than not, he would see things that would escape her and he'd be able to send it to kingdom come. He seemed to be _the_ one to crown witches, though. He had done it so often to save them the hassle of one person shooting her and running like hell that he had become their unofficial witch crowner. He had taught them all to crown witches, but he was the only one really comfortable with the task.

"_Hey there, Miss. I think I hear some crying."_

Rochelle's heart leapt in her mouth as she began walking away from the bodies to try and save her sanity. Swamp water up to her knees and gun hoisted up in an almost shielding position, she pushed her way up the hill, trying to run away from the sounds of Ellis's voice echoing throughout the area.

"_Now, Rochelle, you remember what I taught you, don't ya?"_ She could see the lights of a safe house lighting her way. She had almost made it! Just a bit further…

"_Look, she's up ahead."_

"Ellis, is now really the time!?" She whirled around and saw Ellis standing there for one moment, a goofy grin plastered on his face with his gun slung over his shoulder and one hand in his pocket, and the next moment he had disappeared. She felt herself tearing up once more, about to let out a wail but someone had beat her to the punch. Up ahead sat the ghastly creature that she would have heard from further away if she had only listened. Then again, Ellis _was_ the one who always kept an ear out for the crying. He spotted things before anyone else. As she approached it, she realized that there was no going around her and sat directly in front of the safe room. Ellis's apparition appeared once again, this time right in front of the witch. He beckoned her over and gave her another inane grin—as if knowing that she couldn't hurt him. His gun lowered onto her forehead and he shot, an eerie noise emanating from his gun. A ghostly shot.

"_Just crouch and do her in like I taught ya. You hear?" _

She cleared her eyes and began to approach the witch, noting that she had only two shells left in her gun. The witch sensed her presence and automatically began to get upset. She growled just as Rochelle got to her knee, aiming her gun upwards. The apparition of Ellis's gun lined up along her forehead and Rochelle adjusted hers accordingly before letting out a single bullet. The witch had no idea what hit her and immediately fell to the ground. The woman stood up and whirled around to thank Ellis, but saw him already backing away from her. His smile never faltered as he signed her off as well, running ahead to meet with Coach and disappear. Rochelle couldn't contain her tears. As a few brushed past her eyes, she reached out and opened the door to the safe house.

Inside, she found four health kits, three new guns, and an ammo stash on the table. On the floor was a lantern and two sleeping bags. She closed the door on her way in and slumped against the aluminum wall, holding her face in her hands and letting everything loose.

"_Need a smoke?" _

She felt a chill run through her. That voice was a familiar one. Looking up, staring directly across from her, was the apparition of Nick. He had a cigarette in his mouth, smoke drifting upwards into nowhere, and two fingers wrapped around the cigarette. He was seated with his elbows on his knees, his body leaning towards her and head hung down low.

"Nick…" She choked out, "we messed things up. We messed things up, honey. I can't do this. I can't do this alone." She confessed, watching his head turn upwards to him. He motioned to her with his cigarette hand. _"Back left pocket. I gave it to you just last night." _She reached inside and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She opened it and saw that inside lay only three cigarettes left and a lighter. She didn't think twice to place the toxic stick in between her lips and inhale the noxious fumes in deeply, letting the smoke escape her lips. That was his smell. That was the smell that she had always smelled on Nick. It drove her mad that she could never place her finger on it. She'd always been smelling it before the apocalypse, and it seemed as if all her senses of pre-apocalyptica had dulled to nothing. She looked up at Nick and saw him running his hand through his misty hair, his face pulled back into a somber look. He couldn't even face her now.

"_I'm sorry…"_

"You better be." She choked out, her entire face drooping in agony. "You left me. You all left me. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't go. I don't know where else to go."

"_Yes you do. You'll be fine. We believe in you. I believe in you." _His form disintegrated into a fine mist and traveled over beside her, a chill running through her body as he wrapped his arm around her. She wanted him to do this in real life, not now. Not now during the apocalypse, not now that she was going crazy, and not now that he was _dead._

"_Go to sleep…"_

She didn't want to. She didn't want to wake up to the group not being there—to him not being there. She wouldn't be able to handle it. She woke up once without them being there, she didn't want to have to do the same thing again. Ghost Nick sighed and tried hugging her close only to have his hand phase through her.

"_I've got you. Ellis is outside keeping guard of one door and Coach on the other. You're safe." _

His voice soothed her, and her pain came rushing back to her. Dizziness and fatigue caught up. Those words had comforted her enough for now. They gave her enough courage to go to sleep.

Maybe it was all a dream…

Maybe she would wake up and everyone would be fine and sitting beside her. Getting ready for the day. Preparing themselves for the future to come.

And just like that, the cigarette that she held in between her fingers fell in a puddle beside her, instantly going out.

She had gone to sleep.

**AN: I'm not editing this. NOT GOING TO EVEN REREAD THIS SADNESS WHATHAVEIDONEDFGHJKL /crying**


	2. Prelude

Prelude

With ammo running low in his sniper rifle, Nick forced the butt of his gun into the gut of a nearby zombie. It sunk into the rotted flesh and it fell backwards—dead. His eyes darted over to Coach and watched him slash away at the zombies in front of him with his machete. His pistols lay too far away for him to retrieve and therefore had to borrow the machete that Ellis had been carrying around. He wanted to conserve his bullets as well, Nick could only guess.

The con man had managed to set Rochelle on a patch of dry ground but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted her to be dry, but it was still the swamp and was therefore damp and muddy. He wanted her to have better than that.

One look around at everyone else and he noted that the horde was not slowing and they were all getting tired. With Rochelle out of commission, things were about to get even tougher really fast. He stood firm right beside her and gnashed his teeth together, wishing that he would have been able to rouse her, but knew that she had been hit too hard by the previous tank and wouldn't have moved before her body was ready even if she wanted to.

He reached for the magnum on in his holster to conserve the ammo in his rifle and began shooting at the zombies closest to Coach that he couldn't quite get himself. He kept a keen eye on everything going on around him in case of a zombie trying to sneak up from a blind side. Sweat greased his palms as he dropped to a knee to get a better shot at the zombies, unleashing the bullets into the horde. Teeth clenched together, he could only hope that the mass would die down soon.

There was a break in the wave that gave enough time for the mechanic and the high school teacher to catch their breath and join up with Nick. Sweat poured profusely from Ellis's temple and forced him to wipe it dry, his eyes focused on the horizon for any form of life or help. "Well guys, I don't mean to be cursing us none…"

"No. We are not dying here."

Coach stopped Ellis short before he could continue and gave him a hard stare. The older man's glare softened, however, when he noticed that the young man's posture hunched over. He was beyond tired. Coach was as well, but he knew that the younger man had a tough horde surrounding him at one point in time that he couldn't shake loose for the longest of times and resulted in multiple wounds. Coach threw Nick a worried glance and earned a frown in response and a shake of the head. It was then that Coach knew that if he and Nick couldn't do something for the four of them, there was going to be hell to pay. Within a few moments, before they could even get their bearings, a loud wail echoed through the swamp. Ellis straightened his back and looked over at Rochelle, feeling somehow responsible for her more than ever. He looked up at Nick, his nose dripping with fresh blood that leaked over his lip, and heaved a single laugh. They were a pitiful sight. Unsure about the near future, and definitely uncertain about the amount of firepower that they had left.

Nick counted his bullets and forced a smile on his face. Coach, now heaving his usual, hearty laugh, pulled out his gun. They always knew that the outbreak would have pitted them against trials that they would never have imagined possible.

Then the undead fell upon them like wolves on their prey. Coach let out a maniacal laugh and unleashed ten rounds into the horde, pushing the wave back in time for Ellis to bring up the next assault, his gun unloading into the runner up zombies. When his ten shots were depleted, he had to retreat backwards a bit in order to reload, Nick protecting the southerner with his magnum in hand. Once reloaded, he waited for more of them to get closer so that his gun would be more effective and inhaled deeply though his nose, his teeth clenched together tightly in his mouth that pulled back in a scowl. Body parts and guts sailed past him as the zombies ran into his bullets, and with another click of his gun, he realized that he had successfully managed to use up all his bullets. His face dropped out of pure fear and he retreated, bashing any close undead away from him. There was a screeching noise and suddenly Ellis's backup fire had ceased completely and Nick's yells reverberated throughout the swamp. Without a second though, Ellis completely forgot about the zombies around him and tried running over to Nick in attempt to save him from the hooded zombie.

"COACH! HUNTER ON NICK!"

The conman's blood could be seen spraying every which way, his gun completely out of his reach and hands trying to fight off the hunter. Ellis's eyes widened as a zombie grabbed hold around his ankle and tripped him over, mud blinding his vision. He kicked away the zombie and scrambled forwards, wiping the mud away from his eyes using the swamp water. He was just in time to see Coach rescuing Nick. The entire frame of the large man made contact with the hunter and pinned him to the ground. With a quick slash of his machete, he had decapitated the hunter and reached out for the closest gun next to him—Rochelle's scar. A feral yell escaped his lips as he got up in time to shoot a horde beginning to make their way over to Nick, thinking him a feast. The younger man managed to haul himself over towards Nick, fists and feet raining down on him, and grab his magnum, emptying it into the zombies. Bruised and bleeding, he grasped onto the conman's leg and shake him a bit, seeing his blouse and suit staining a dark red. Slash marks ran across his abdomen and worse, his throat. Ellis paled and felt heat rise to his cheeks. Sadness, anger, frustration, he wasn't sure which emotion was taking over, or being felt all at once, he just knew that he was feeling something that couldn't be placed into words at the time.

"Ellis…"

His voice was weak. To be frank, the mechanic was surprised that his vocals hadn't been torn up. Sure enough, startled out of his wits, he grasped onto the wounds on his neck and tried keeping it closed up. "COACH! COACH!" His voice was frantic. To his horror, the teacher had been preoccupied with a charger. Did it charge yet? He wasn't sure. He didn't hear it release its usual attack sound. Ellis looked down at Nick and saw his eyes sliding shut, blood pooling under him. "Nick, Nick, I'll…I'll be right back."

Ellis wanted to do something for the conman but knew that if it was too late for him, it wasn't too late for Coach. He grasped onto the magnum and ran up to the charger, releasing more bullets into it. Then it stopped moving for a split second. That split second was all it took to register with the two of them what was going to happen—a charge.

Sure enough, the bull-like sound escaped the charger and to Ellis's horror, pinned Coach up against a tree. The machete fell out of his grasp and a loud crack emanated from the victim. Coach's eyes went completely hollow and his body limp. Blood gushed out of his mouth and stained his shirt. The coach's eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the mechanic's mouth opening in horror, and maybe he had called out his name, he wasn't sure. His senses dulled to almost nothing, relinquishing him of any pain the charger had intended to inflict upon him. It was almost…blissful…to not be able to feel the pain or anything at all. Ellis, at a loss, tried shooting down the charger but knew from experience that it would have taken five seconds too long to take down a charger with a magnum. He felt a lump grow in his throat, and then suddenly, a loud noise exploded behind him. He spun around and saw Nick on his stomach, his blood dragged from one area to the next and had managed to reach his gun. The sniper bullet had efficiently pierced the head of the charger and brought him down in three succinct shots. After a pause and a moment's worth of breathing, Nick fell back down onto the ground, face so close to the swamp water that he was inhaling the water. With a horrid groan, he pushed himself up off the ground, holding onto his neck as his did so, and stumbled over a few paces next to Rochelle. She had no idea what was happening around her. She just didn't know.

Ellis ran over to Coach and managed to heave him out from under the charger, he heaving wheezy gasps and skin ice cold. "Coach, come on, man…" Ellis tried to bring the older man out of his stupor. The large man's eyes flickered towards Ellis and seemingly past his face, shuddered a breath, and was no more. Ellis's face pulled back aghast. His eyebrows furrowed together and yet, to his dismay, came more zombies. This was absolutely no time to mourn. He couldn't help the twinge of pain growing in his chest, but right now, Nick and Rochelle needed him. He wrapped his hand around Coach's machete and ran over to Nick, seeing the man keeled over in pain and zombies about to descend upon him. Nick's sniper barrel had shattered a few zombies to bits with a point blank shot, but alas, his final click came and for the moment's stupor he was in, the undead took advantage. Surrounding him like walls of rotting flesh, he tried to tackle them out of his way but felt weaker and weaker with each movement. However his resolve was still firm. He needed to protect Rochelle—

Rochelle.

He turned his head and saw a few undead beginning to yank at her, tugging her into the water and away from the safety of dry land.

"Oh no you don't!"

He let out a yell and, without thinking, threw his gun to the side. A hidden source of brute force expelled from within him as he yanked them away with his bare hands and yelled Rochelle's name over and over again, trying to stir the woman into consciousness. Familiar gunshots were heard and he realized that Ellis had shot the zombies to the ground. The mechanic let out a feral yell and stumbled forwards, slashing away with the machete in his other hand. Almost grateful for the fireball, he returned his attention to Rochelle and quickly checked over her, ensuring that she had no wounds to speak of.

The loss of Coach weighed heavy on his mind as he moved.

A sudden choking noise and Nick's head snapped over to Ellis. A jockey had managed to launch itself onto the hick when he wasn't looking and now held his head under water, laughing. Nick felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and went to move to help Ellis, but found himself glued to the spot. His body was giving up on him without his consent. Whether he wanted to move or not wasn't up for discussion.

"Ellis…" He tried calling out to the young man in vain. He couldn't get his voice to be more than a faint whisper and the mechanic could definitely not be able to hear him over the sound of the jockey and zombies. Not to mention that his flailing had created such a commotion that it only served to excite the jockey even further and grasp his nails deeper into his face.

Nick toppled over, landing beside Rochelle's body and in his own pool of blood. He hadn't realized the copious amounts that had expelled from his body until he lay in it. The pungent metallic smell would have made him gag if he were able to. All he could do was listen to Ellis's flailing slowly die down and his own heartbeat slowing in his ears. He moved his arm to reach out to brush Rochelle's cheeks, but found it to be the hardest thing to do. His breathing eventually slowed and eyes could no longer stay open. He wanted to drink in her image as long as he could. Savor it. Keep it only for himself and no one else—especially not that grease ball, Francis.

But maybe he'd have to in the end. If he was still alive and he wasn't, obviously he was doing something right to stay alive.

And then the jockey's laughter died down. Nick tried moving once more but had gone completely numb. With a struggled smile, he breathed out once more.

"Night Ro…"

And let his hand drop onto the soggy earth beneath them.

**AN: SO DONE WITH THIS STORY /SOBS**


End file.
